


An Effervescent Reverie

by XxTwistedEverAfterxX



Series: Carnival!AU: Red Velvet Pancakes & Veggie Burgers [2]
Category: 2P Hetalia - Fandom, Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-12
Updated: 2014-12-12
Packaged: 2018-03-01 04:22:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,018
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2759462
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/XxTwistedEverAfterxX/pseuds/XxTwistedEverAfterxX
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The curtains had closed, the final show had ended for that town, and it was time to pack up and move on to the next, but not before some celebrations. Merry dancing, singing and drinking about a camp fire has everyone's spirits soaring. No atmosphere is more magical than that of a circus, and none more mysterious and evaded than that between a magician and an escapist. Despite how they try, love simply cannot disappear or remain locked in a cage.</p>
            </blockquote>





	An Effervescent Reverie

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kirono](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=kirono), [Quintessentila (Woodbyne)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Woodbyne/gifts).



> The Veggie Burgers sequel to Carnaval de L'Amour is now finished!! Please make sure to thank and credit the lovely kirono and quintessentila for brewing up the Carnival!AU and allowing me to write the first fic! This has gotten quite a lot of positive attention, and I’m so surprised and super flattered at how many were looking forward to this fic, so thank you all for the support! This seems like it has potential to be an ongoing AU series, so perhaps I’ll even think about writing more! I’d definitely love to play about with it~! I hope you all enjoy it! Smooch smooch!

The festivities had long since died down. The guests had left and the performers had all taken their final bow at the curtain call, all in a circle, hip to hip and graceful. The audience had screamed and cheered and applauded until even when the final child bid farewell to their favourite act, the ringing of praise still echoed in everyone’s ears.  
  
The circus was done, packed up, and readying itself to move on to the next town en route, having spent close to two weeks stationary in a pocket of the woods by the city. It had been close enough to reach on foot, but far enough away that the stars glittered brightly and the bustle of busy life didn’t disrupt the peace and mystical atmosphere that surrounded the marquees. The moon had shrunk in the skies from full to a waning gibbous, settled in the last quarter and begun to curve towards its crescent shape. They planned to reach the next town by the new moon and begin the show by the waxing crescent.  
  
But for now, they partied.  
  
Animals were fed and housed in their cages, and props stowed in their proper places. Posters were neatly peeled down and rolled up for reuse, or tossed into the bonfire that blazed in the centre where the main tent had stood proud and tall, having been pulled apart meticulously and methodically, wooden poles unhinged and packed away, and the brightly coloured striped cloth folded and stored in its protective cases. The bearded lady served the drinks, the clowns the plates, and the acrobats the food which had been cooked up and prepared by the elderly that had long since retired from performances. They were far more help occupying their hands with food to serve the hungry, and allowed the young to cooperate together on the hard labour so that once it was completed efficiently, they could all feast together.  
  
Everything was to be done overnight, so that come dawn, they could leave without a trace, leaving behind only young trees planted in the holes made by their tent pegs, as a gracious thank you for allowing them to stay in the clearing for a fortnight, and a mess of horseshoe prints and trails where the wheels had dragged as their caravans departed.  
  
Until the time came when the sun caressed the horizon with streaks of pink and gold, they would rejoice over a successful final performance, and the prosperous ones that had preceded it.  
  
Alfred was smiling happily and dazedly, dressed only in his slacks and navy shirt speckled with gold, the sleeves rolled up to above his elbows, having discarded his gloves, coat, and top hat. His suspenders hung from his pants in drapes of bright yellow, rather than strapped over his shoulders, the sparkling shade dimmed greenish by the darkness of the night around him, away from the crackling of the main bonfire. It was close to the middle of the night, yet many still remained awake laughing and chattering, some still eating leftovers, and others already offering to clean up and help the elderly and youngest ones to bed. A cool autumn breeze ruffled his hair, and Alfred inhaled the scent of crisp leaves and damp soil, tired bright blue eyes falling closed behind his glasses, arms crossed over his chest comfortably as he leant against a tree, the buzz of alcohol pumping through his veins keeping his body heated and his cheeks warmly coloured amaranth pink.  
  
“Look at you, Magic Man, all on your lonesome.”  
  
Alfred’s eyes opened, the lazy smile starting to shrink at the northern accented voice drawing in closer to him, confirming that Tommy had made his way to his cosy little place away from the direct source of the noise.  
  
“Mind if I join you?” Tommy asked, wrapped in a warm robe, fluffy and magenta—borrowed from one of the ladies that were his size in clothes for the sake of keeping warm, given the thin and minimal amount of clothing that he had brought with him.  
  
“It’s a free country,” Alfred grunted, head cocking to the side, looking through his lashes up at the darker skinned American as he came to a pause before him, “Do what you want.”  
  
“How drunk are you?” Tommy laughed, fluffing up the collar of soft downy feathers, moving in to stand beside Alfred, his lips curved in a lopsided smirk, “Given you ain’t runnin’ for the hills or glarin’ at me. You’re just lettin’ me sidle right on up to you. I could probably do whatever I want too, big boy.”  
  
“I’m not  _that_  drunk,” Alfred muttered, rubbing at his face, hot beneath his hands as he stared out at those still awake and settled around the bonfire, a group of three beginning to sing merrily, clapping their hands to the beat in their heads, “It just started to get hot over there and I needed to cool down a bit. I don’t care what you do.”  
  
“Well, if you don’t care, then we could make it all hot and steamy over here too,” he suggested, an eyebrow wiggle accompanying his words.  
  
“Fat chance.”  
  
“Fat can be good; more to snuggle with.”  
  
“I’m  _not_  snuggling with you.”  
  
“You’re so cute when you’re pretendin’ you hate me, Magic Man.”  
  
Alfred dropped his hands, face bright red now, expression indignant, gawking at Tommy like he had personally insulted him, surprised at how placid he was being, simply leaning his shoulder against the tree, arms crossed and grinning. It was a sharp contrast to the usual, where during the day, hands would be creeping towards him and the concept of personal space was nonexistent to the darker skinned man. Squinting, Alfred studied him up close, the thick, dark and long lower lashes, the squarer set jaw, the thinner cheeks and clean shaven dark skin, making his eyes stand out shockingly at the whites and then the red iris.  
  
“Why aren’t you touching me?” Alfred asked after a moment of simply staring, eyebrows knitting upwards in confusion.  
  
“You want me to?” Tommy teased right back, grinning wider, his missing tooth a dark hole in his mouth.  
  
“ _No_ ,” he snapped back immediately, smacking at hands that hadn’t moved, as though they had been approaching, ending up only swatting at air, “No, why would I want your hands on my body? That’s so gross!”  
  
Tommy shrugged, watching the brief flailing before the hands connected with his chest in a few strikes, watching them bounce off before Alfred gave up, letting them drop to his side.  
  
“Why are you bothering me?”  
  
“Because you were startin’ to slouch and looked like you were gonna fall and hurt yourself. I came to check up on you. Your doe eyed twin was worried. Plus, they were gettin’ a little bit too sugary sweet over there for my tastes,” Tommy explained, snorting and rolled his eyes, jerking his head in the direction of the campfire to where their brothers sat side by side, “They were playin’ with each other’s fingers and it looked like it was a good time for me to stop bein’ the third wheel and give them some time alone.”  
  
“How observant and considerate,” Alfred drawled sarcastically, surly gaze trailing off to the two Canadians, focusing his eyes as best as he could on them.  
  
“I can be when I feel like it,” Tommy chuckled, his eyes following Alfred’s to their brothers, smiling more as Matt shifted closer, head determinedly pointed upwards towards the sky, even as his arm shifted to move his hand behind Matthew’s back. He halted awkwardly mid-air, keeping his hand hovering before it simply came down to rest behind the Matthew’s back on the log instead, expression turning pained and frustrated as he lowered his gaze to the few unpacking instruments, eager to add music to the singers.  
  
“Tch. That was pathetic. Matt does stuff better when he’s one on one with people. I felt that it was a good time as any to leave him and Doe Eyes together. Even without me there, he’s doin’ pretty miserably.”  
  
“Why do you keep giving everyone nicknames? We’re not three years old,” Alfred grumbled, looking to Tommy with a disapproving frown, adding quickly after, “Or girls. So what’s with all the flowery nicknames?”  
  
“What’s wrong with a man bein’ cute?” Tommy challenged, still watching as Matthew leant in, hand coming to rest on Matt’s knee, their lips moving as they spoke words far too soft to be heard from all the way where he and Alfred were standing, “I think bein’ cute is great. Don’t restrict me from that just ‘cause I’ve got a dingle dangler.”  
  
“A—A  _what_?”  
  
“Dingle dangler; makes it sound cute, don’t it?”  
  
“Christ,” Alfred groaned, shaking his head, “I dunno how to deal with you.”  
  
“Does it make your heart all aflutter?” he hummed, resting his head against the tree, his reddish hair fluffy and pliable, curling and curving against the trunk, “Messes with your brain and makes it all hard to think when I’m near. Makes you want to do dumb things.”  
  
“No! No, no, no, and again no! I don’t— _none_  of those things!” Alfred objected, shoving himself away from the tree, shoulders back and chest puffed out, swaying on his feet, a hand lifted, ready to defend himself as he staggered backwards, “It’s not like that at all! I’m not… not…”  
  
Tommy pushed himself forward, catching Alfred as he stumbled and nearly fell, snorting out a laugh of amusement as sun kissed hands came down onto his shoulders and chest for stability, blond head lolling forward with a groan that drifted into the wind, followed closely by a violin, harmonica, guitar, and accordion one by one. The singers had harmonised, and people were dancing once again, having recovered and rested from their brief food coma, ready to spring up and rejoice more, though it was slower than the bouncing and spinning and leaping from when the night was younger. The tune was tender, passionate, heartfelt, and played leisurely.  
  
“You’re so drunk, even them big pretty thunder thighs can’t hold you up no more,” Tommy sighed, heaving Alfred up, bodies pressed together, one arm around his middle, and the other against strong back muscles between shoulder blades atop the navy shirt, “I think it’s bed time for you, Magic Man. Time for your disappearin’ act.”  
  
“But Mattie…”  
  
“Doe Eyes is with Matt, he’s fine. He didn’t drink nearly as much as you. He sure as hell ate more though,” Tommy noted, nestling his cheek against the crown of Alfred’s hair, breathing in the scent of sandalwood and gunpowder, “Matt will look after him. They’re just talkin’, cuddlin’, smoochin’…”  
  
“ _What_?!” Alfred snapped, whirring about faster than his head could comprehend, over spinning on the balls of his feet and slipping on the leaves, causing a belly deep laugh from Tommy as he crashed to the ground, slaps of amusement on thighs forming out of sync beats to the melody that carried to them.  
  
“I’m kiddin’, I’m kiddin’! Man, if I saw my brother doin’ that, I dunno what I’d do,” Tommy gasped out between laughs, bending down, straddling Alfred’s legs and seizing hold of his waist before he could scramble away, lifting him up to at least be on all fours, “Come on, get up. I was  _kiddin’_ , you can calm down.”  
  
“You  _lied_  to me,” Alfred exclaimed, looking back horrified and betrayed, his bright blue eyes wide and jaw agape, back slouched as he was heaved up with a grunt, Tommy shifting positions to help him stand easier.  
  
“Never said they were smoochin’  _now_ , but with how they’ve been actin’ since that first show two weeks ago, I can’t say I’d be surprised if they did. Up you get now.”  
  
Helping Alfred to stand was fiddly and tricky, and by the time the shorter of the two had helped him up and turned them both to be face to face, the sigh of the wind had begun to carry a new slower and sleepy tune from the campsite. A forlorn slope curled Alfred’s lips, bright blue eyes droopy as they focused on the magenta warmth against chocolate tattooed skin. Tommy tilted his head, smile quirky as he softly swayed Alfred from side to side, the music slow and sweet.  
  
“What’s the matter, huh? Come on, arms ‘round me,” Tommy breathed, helping to keep Alfred stable.  
  
Thick arms curled around his neck, draping over his shoulders, tucked in by the downy feathers that tickled at sun kissed skin. Gently, they began to rock together, Alfred’s body pliable in Tommy’s hands, easing in against the strong body willingly now in their intimate dance. The crisp scent of autumn was stained with the alcohol on Alfred’s breath, rum and sugar brushing Tommy’s lips with every exhale, every inhale drawing the cool air sharply between them. The two remained entranced by the natural grace of their bodies together, lost in silent reveries in their own minds whilst the harmonica whistled high, faded low, and then to silence, followed by the accordion, leaving behind the violin and the guitar to harmonise to a more melancholically sweet melody. Tenderly, Tommy’s hand lifted, the backs of his fingers curling and brushing against Alfred’s cheekbone, tracing the soft cheeks up to temples, brushing aside the limp blond fringe.  
  
“You didn’t answer me. Baby, you got blue eyes, but blue don’t suit you for a mood,” Tommy crooned, leaning up and in, their noses brushing, “I ain’t gonna make fun of you. If I do, you can turn me into a frog.”  
  
A small smile crept up on Alfred’s lips, quirking it at the corner the slightest bit.  
  
“It wouldn’t be a frog. It’d be a toad.”  
  
“Oh ouch, Magic Man.”  
  
Alfred huffed out a soft laugh through his nose with a breath, his eyes dropping again, the ache in his chest swollen and throbbing, pressing it closer to Tommy’s, as though the firmness there would ease it. Ever so slightly, like a paradox, it lessened and worsened the tightness of his lungs and heart, closed and opened his throat, and he breathed in deep, the scent of Tommy filling him—too much yet simultaneously not enough.  
  
“I bet you’d miss me,” Tommy teased, sliding his hand from Alfred’s cheeks to the back of his neck, toying with the soft and short hairs there, “Life would be so  _borin’_ , huh?”  
  
“Shut up. I wouldn’t miss you.”  
  
“Really?”  
  
“Nah… ‘Cause I’d turn you back.”  
  
Tommy smiled wider, his eyes hooded, hefting Alfred up again as he began to slouch, holding most of his body weight up with the arm around his waist curled up along his spine, the hand splayed between shoulder blades.  
  
“How would you do that?” Tommy asked, eager to push and see how far he could go before Alfred spoke honestly, chuckling at the dark blush that spread right to the tips of Alfred’s ears, frown creasing his brow.  
  
“You know how.”  
  
“I don’t.”  
  
“Tommy…”  
  
“Come on,” he encouraged, tilting his head, “If you tell me… I might just let you.”  
  
As cautiously as possible, Tommy guided Alfred as close as they could get, bodies flush against one another, his voice a husky rumble deep in his chest as he hummed in time with the two remaining instruments, keeping eye contact with bright blue as long as he could before it was broken by the fairer skinned man. Alfred’s head came down, tucking in against the crook of Tommy’s neck and shoulders, his heavy sigh heating the skin there, hands seeking warmth beneath the robe and atop the leotard worn underneath. Tommy’s black stockings rubbed silkily against Alfred’s slacks as they slow danced sweetly together, chest to chest, hip to hip, and thighs between thighs.  
  
Resting his own head against Alfred’s, Tommy gazed off to where Matt and Matthew sat, watching the way Matthew played with Matt’s fingers, hand so much larger and stronger, yet Matthew wasn’t afraid. It was good for him, in the end, and Tommy felt proud, mentally cheering for his brother when he summoned the courage to not turn his head away when Matthew laced their fingers together and kissed the back of his hand. The fire crackled, dying with the night, the hoots of owls reminding him that they should be resting for tomorrow morning rather than dancing by the thickness of the trees to the dying embers of fire and the sighing of strings.  
  
“They’re scars.”  
  
Tommy blinked, his hums turning into a single questioning sound, looking to the other in his arms, acutely aware of the hands that rubbed along his neck, broad shoulders, and upper back under the robe.  
  
“They’re scars,” Alfred repeated, frown nudging at Tommy’s neck, “Your tattoos. I can feel them. They’re raised and… thick and…”  
  
Confused, Alfred cracked his eyes open, looking up as Tommy nuzzled his temple, drawing in a deep breath. Eyebrows knitting, Alfred carefully raised his head, sobriety sliding away from his features the longer he moved, alcohol sloshing through his system faster since he had stopped sitting and become active. He’d drunk far too much whilst he’d been sitting that he wasn’t aware how inebriated he was until it all rushed to his head as he stood.  
  
“Yeah, golden boy, they’re scars,” Tommy confirmed, allowing Alfred to trace one down to his front, his finger curling over an unscarred collarbone and down to his chest, following the outstretched wing of the eagle tattoo there, the robe making following it difficult.  
  
“Why?”  
  
“Gotta make somethin’ beautiful outta somethin’ ugly,” he explained, “Didn’t like who gave them to me, where they came from, or lookin’ at them. People would stare and they couldn’t be explained away easy. So I got them tattooed, did them up all fancy like.”  
  
A pause filtered between them, hardly longer than a skip of a heartbeat between his sentences.  
  
“Do you like ‘em, Magic Man?”  
  
Hesitantly, Alfred shook his head negatively, frowning deeper, calloused fingers guided back up to his collarbone, then cupping Tommy’s neck again.  
  
“What happened?”  
  
Alfred’s voice was a whisper, as though afraid of the answer but too curious to leave it as is. It wasn’t as though he meant any harm by asking either, and Tommy took in a deep breath, looking up to the starry skies twinkling above them, the constellations connecting each glittering far off diamond in exactly the way he could with the faintest of sun kissed freckles along Alfred’s nose and cheeks. Alfred was made of constellations and shooting stars and sunshine and blue skies all in one, while Tommy saw himself more as a worn ink stained page with too many tears and gravel roughened covers.  
  
“Daddy weren’t a kind man—maybe my daddy, maybe just Matt’s, we dunno. He died not long before we joined this here circus, so we couldn’t ask for sure if he was my daddy. Maybe Matt and I shared a mother, maybe it was a father. We’re only half siblings, unlike you twinkle twins.”  
  
Tommy took that moment to smile, smoothing back sunshine blond hair from the uncharacteristically concerned expression, keeping his tone kind and upbeat, though with a lowered volume.  
  
“Ma was a cheat, or she ran away from daddy once I popped out, and he was pretty mad. Blamed it on me a lot, liked to take out that anger on me too. ‘s how I got good at my escapin’ routine.”  
  
“I’ve had tougher crowds I needed to hoodwink,” Alfred repeated quietly, mouthing the words Tommy had said to him not that long ago before his first performance, looking up at him and standing up straighter, realisation dawning on his face, “Your father locked you up and beat you? Is that where the scars are from? Is that why you can fit in small places? Why?  _Why_  are you doing this when he hurt you with it and scarred you and—”  
  
“Whoa, whoa, whoa, you’re gettin’ all worked up over a dead man’s deeds,” Tommy chuckled, the violin and guitar mere white noise in the background now, though they contributed to the heart wrenching aches within, “If I wasn’t fine with it, I wouldn’t be doin’ escapism tricks at a circus, and I wouldn’t have gotten the scars tattooed onto me with big designs like I have.”  
  
The reassurance didn’t have any effect on Alfred, the distress not fading, even as their bodies began to rock, guided again in their dance by Tommy’s hands, the missing toothed smile close and wide like a wolf’s, glinting in the firelight catching from behind Alfred’s back.  
  
“Gotta turn it into somethin’ beautiful, sugar cup,” Tommy breathed, the words curling against Alfred’s lips and he sighed, burying his face in his neck, clinging tight in a needy and meaningful embrace, fingers curling into the robe once more, “Make the most of what you got.”  
  
Looking to the mop of hair on the edge of is field of vision, despite his lack of alcohol, a flood of warmth coursed through Tommy’s veins, the tenderness and innocence of the embrace heating him up right to the core. Without hesitation, he leant his head against Alfred’s, closing his eyes and continuing to hum, his thumb rubbing soft circles on Alfred’s strong back, feeling it go laxer by the minute, counting the time flowing past by the chirps of crickets. Plucks of strings hardly reached them anymore, the vibration of the violin despondent and sleepy, and the singers had faded from words to mere hums, leaning against one another with smiles glowing in the firelight, their eyes closing one by one as lethargy caught up with them from the night passing.  
  
“I’m takin’ you to bed,” Tommy decided once Alfred’s body had gone nearly slack in his arms, lifting his head up and standing still, laughing at the softest of snores he received in reply, “Wake up, golden boy, no sleepin’ on me.”  
  
Jostling Alfred awake again and watching his head jerk up, disorientated, he grinned at the American, patting his hips firmly.  
  
“Bed time,” he repeated.  
  
Alfred nodded dazedly, holding tighter to Tommy, his head coming to rest where it had lain before, closing his eyes as he took in a shaky breath.  
  
“Stay the night?” he asked gruff with clinging sleep, the words a plea, “Nothing funny, just… I…”  
  
Tommy’s expression shifted to delicate and understanding, nodding, pressing the lightest of kisses to Alfred’s temple, letting his lips linger, pulling back only when Alfred’s arms stiffened, body trembling once.  
  
“Nothin’ funny, Magic Man, no tricks up my sleeve and I ain’t disappearin’ or escapin’ nowhere,” Tommy replied, “I promise.”  
  
The noise that Alfred returned was half a grunt and half a hum, remorseful to pull away from the other’s body and the intimately sweet dance they’d been sharing, but when he drew away, his expression was less aching, though still tired and flushed deep red. He allowed himself to be guided back towards the campsite, one small step at a time, Tommy’s arm around his waist keeping him balanced, leaning heavily on him, eyes fluttering between open and closed, head lolling on his shoulders to his chest and to his arm that wrapped around Tommy’s neck. Sticks snapped and leaves crunched, some still far too soggy to do so, but the noise of their steps was enough to make Matthew look up with a bright smile, even though their returned presence had Matt turning shy again, disconnecting their hands and shifting back a few inches.  
  
“I’m takin’ him to sleep. All tuckered out,” Tommy provided, “You can take my bed, Doe Eyes, save you from worryin’ about wakin’ him up when you two finally finish chattin’.”  
  
“Eh? Oh, no, it’s fine, I can take care of him,” Matthew assured, standing up, sliding around the log to move to his twin, exasperated at the way that Alfred’s knees grew weak as he half dozed on the spot, making Matthew roll his eyes when Tommy grasped firmer to keep him upright, “How troublesome. Sorry, Alfred can’t hold his alcohol too well. I’ll take it from here.”  
  
“No need, really. You and Matt have fun. I’ll take your bed. Honest, I don’t disrespect nobody by touchin’ them when they’re drunk. It ain’t consent, and I ain’t gonna enjoy nothin’ if it don’t feel right in my mind.”  
  
Matthew’s eyebrows knitted, looking first in concern to Alfred, then to Tommy, eyeing him off judgementally, studying and trying to determine truth from lies.  
  
“I like the chase. Besides, Magic Man has me swoonin’ like no man does with how he’s playin’ hard-to-get. Ain’t gonna sour a good thing that I want to last,” Tommy promised, “Don’t gotta fret for your bro. He’s in safe hands. I respect him to know if he says no while sober, it means ‘definitely a thousand percent no’ when drunk.”  
  
As though wanting to argue, or object, Matthew opened and closed his mouth several times, trying to find the right words, in the end glancing back to Matt. The strongman simply gave a nod, pulling his jumper closer around his body, some hair sliding over his chest. Turning back to Tommy, Matthew’s lips pursed briefly before he smiled, nodding hastily.  
  
“Make sure you get some sleep too. Alfred snores.”  
  
“We’ll have a competition to see who’s the loudest,” Tommy joked in reply, gently poking and pinching at the pudge on Alfred’s hips and waistline to stir and wake him up, “Ain’t that right, pork chop? We’ll have a snoring orchestra. A  _snorechestra_.”  
  
Matthew laughed at that, reaching out to brush back some of Alfred’s fringe from his face, adjusting his glasses which had been knocked askew from the way his head was resting on his bicep.  
  
“Sleep well, you two. I’ll take your bed then, so if you have any troubles, just come see me. Use the trash can in the corner by the vanity and drawers if the weak beer baby needs to throw up,” Matthew said, voice honeyed, “Wipe his mouth and chin if he dribbles. You’ve probably already got a patch on your nice robe.”  
  
Tommy glanced down, raising an eyebrow at another soft snore as he studied the fabric. It didn’t seem like he’d drooled yet, nothing damp.  
  
“I’ll keep it in mind, but I don’t mind a bit of spit. Ya’ll sleep well,” Tommy retorted with a chuckle, winking back in Matt’s direction, “Clean my sheets once you’re done.”  
  
Both Canadian’s faces flared bright red, though Matt’s far more so, and Tommy laughed, moving briskly away, Alfred’s feet galloping awkwardly from being caught off guard by the movement before he regained his footing, looking around blearily, groaning at the shifting before dropping his head back down to his arm. Trudging their way to the caravans, Tommy heard Matthew’s muffled sniggers, knowing how utterly livid and humiliated Matt had to be feeling at the suggestion he had made of their possible activities. It was none of his business, nor did he want to know, but he could spare to take the banter—they were siblings, after all. It was only Alfred that had drunk himself into oblivion, with Tommy sober, and Matt and Matthew only drinking enough each to get warm and gain the faintest buzz. If anything happened, well, it was more Matt he was concerned about.  
  
Lead through the steadily forming mist, the temperature chilling the ground and through their clothes and shoes, Tommy stepped up onto the collapsible ladder of Alfred and Matthew’s caravan, reaching up and opening the door, letting it swing outwards so that he could grasp Alfred with both hands by the hips. Alfred’s head lifted, their eyes meeting, and Tommy smiled to him softly, standing atop the highest step and lifted. Shifting his arms, Alfred took hold of Tommy’s shoulders, one sloppy step after another pushing him towards the other and into his caravan, falling into open arms with a husky hum through his nose, their cheeks brushing.  
  
“Let’s get you dressed, sunshine,” Tommy whispered, reaching forward first to bring the door shut, and then helping to manoeuvre Alfred towards the nearest bed, assuming it to be his and not Matthew’s simply because of the star embroidered deep blue sheets, while the other was autumn colours embroidered with bright red maple leaves.  
  
“You’re staying the night?” Alfred urged anxiously, head lolling a little on his neck as he tried to hold it up on his own, palms pressed to Tommy’s chest and clasping for stability there.  
  
“I sure am, but first you gotta get dressed,” Tommy confirmed, tugging on the golden bowtie, speckled with tiny patches of glittering silver, untying it and sliding it from around Alfred’s collar, “Sit your thunder thighs down, they need a rest.”  
  
Heavily, Alfred dropped himself backwards, quick to be caught as he miscalculated the distance to the bed and nearly skid right off the edge, eased back by Tommy as he huffed out a laugh, shaking his head and lay him down.  
  
“Okay, you just lay there and I’ll do all the work. I don’t mind if you fall asleep,” he grunted with a heave to get Alfred’s long legs onto the bed, plucking at the laces of his shoes and sliding them off, neatly placing them side by side at the foot of the bed, socks following.  
  
“I won’t fall asleep,” Alfred slurred, looking hazily down the length of his body, hands resting by his head, “I wouldn’t… I wouldn’t sleep in the middle of it.”  
  
Choking down a laugh, Tommy pursed his lips into a thin line, his piercings twitching as he toyed with them with his teeth, giving him something to occupy himself through Alfred’s drunken rambles and assumptions of what they would be doing.  
  
“We’re only cuddlin’,” he reminded, kicking his own shoes off, the ballet flats left beside Alfred’s as he crawled up the bed, straddling Alfred’s hips to hold him still while he tried to squirm, plucking the star shaped buttons out of the holes in his shirt one at a time, parting the fabric to brush calloused brown hands along golden skin in the process, “I told you. Not doin’ nothin’ when you’re not sober.”  
  
Unintelligible burbles of words filled the silent caravan from Alfred as he made attempts to speak, un-concentrated gaze falling in and out of focus between flutters of lashes, his breathing heavy and loud. Carefully, Tommy worked Alfred’s arms out of his sleeves, the thick muscles and sharp elbow getting caught in the fabric, yanking it aside and tossing it backwards to be hung up once he properly clothed Alfred and put him to sleep. Fingers began to graze his robe sluggishly, parting the fluffy magenta fabric with every clumsy tug downwards in vain efforts to bring him closer while he focused on the belt and pants.  
  
“ _Tommy_.”  
  
His name was a plea, raw and desperate and he could hear the lonely ache dripping from soft alcohol tainted lips like it was a running tap. He paused, ruby eyes grazing up over the soft stomach and ridges of ribs to where the heart beneath his chest beat, beat, beat like a drum against its xylophone cage, swollen and throbbing. The way his breaths stuttered in his throat and chest—strong and so reliable and so full of passion and deep laughs—had Tommy drawing in a sharp breath of his own, tearing his gaze up to Alfred’s face as his robe slid over a shoulder, exposing half of the proud black ink eagle and his starved collarbone for hungry fingers that traced the bone back and forward with a profound longing. Wistful blues drunk in every line of ink, the puckered scars beneath fingertips invisible to those that didn’t touch, yet as he traced the wing to the eagle’s head and the mess of welted disfigured skin there, they stood out as though they glowed scolding red in the darkness.  
  
“I think you’re beautiful.”  
  
Tommy would have missed those words if he hadn’t been straining his ears and holding his breath, taken off guard by the confession, lips crooked as he tried to smile, unsure with how to deal with positive attention, particularly from the golden man he had been trying hard to woo for weeks now.  
  
“I like your skin, and I like your tattoos. I like your eyes and smile… even though they’re all messed up by bad things.”  
  
Snorting, Tommy leaned down, sliding the pants off bit by bit, tossing them aside as well, the feathered collar of his robe tickling at his shoulders as it draped down over his hard muscled bicep.  
  
“Messed up is a pretty good way to put it,” he agreed, looking about for nightwear, spotting it strewn messily across the pillow and tucked against the wall, jerking them out and inverting them from how they were left, inside out, shuffling away from wandering hands to slide Alfred’s feet into them, “So long as you like it though, I don’t care how fucked up I got back then. You’re magical and make all that scary pain just disappear.”  
  
Forcing the pants up over Alfred’s hips, he let the elastic snap soundly, sniggering at Alfred’s whine, rubbing the spots with his palms to soothe, stretching out over Alfred’s body to get the shirt, wiggling it down and over his head until it popped out, frowning a little at his dilemma. Now the arms were stuck.  
  
“Tommy. I like you.”  
  
Again, that tone, and again, he swallowed hard as his eyebrows loosened, muscles taut in readiness, feeling the other side of his robe brush aside, letting it slide along his arm, leaving his torso clad in the leotard and the section of magenta still tied about his waist to keep it from fluttering open entirely. Alfred pushed himself up, body curling, shirt still around his neck like a piece of jewellery, abdominal muscles hardening and accentuating with the curve of his spine, their faces at the same level as Tommy eased himself down to sit on Alfred’s thighs.  
  
“Tommy,  _please_.”  
  
Resolve crumbling, he reached out and pulled the shirt off, not wanting to fiddle with it and frustrate himself at the hour it was, his own robe a mere curtain against his skin which he left hanging, feathers tickling both their skins as he leant in closer. Square, rough palms cupped Alfred’s cheeks softly, blunt nailed fingers brushing aside hair, thumbs rubbing sweetly along the high rise of his bones beneath his eyes.  
  
“Just one,” Tommy warned hoarsely, his gaze dropping to Alfred’s lips, soft and parted and moist, “Then we’ll sleep… okay?”  
  
“Okay.”  
  
Tentatively, he leaned in, Alfred’s arms encircling his waist and blossoming a warm and protected feeling within him. Their lips brushed sweetly, eyes closed, and a sigh filtered into the dim air between them, the only lights inside coming in through the drawn lace curtains from the fire that was being doused, shadows dancing like they had done earlier. Alfred’s hands gripped firmly, pulling them in tight, and Tommy groaned, tilting his head to deepen the kiss briefly, pulling back with a trembling breath and a shake of the head.  
  
“Sleep now,” he insisted, pressing on Alfred’s shoulders until he fell back, following him down and tugging the sheets up and over their bodies, legs tangling as Alfred shifted to get comfortable. Plucking his glasses from his face, Tommy placed them folded on the bedside table that sat between his and Matthew’s beds, contemplating briefly before settling himself down, pillowing his head on Alfred’s chest, wrapped up immediately by strong arms.  
  
“You can’t escape.”  
  
“Mm?”  
  
“My arms… It’s one thing you can’t escape, so don’t try.”  
  
Bubbles of emotions popped inside his chest, flooding it and curling his lips into an adoring smile, nuzzling in against the strong chest, padded with softness. The feeling of being wanted,  _needed_ , had him melting, blissful as his makeshift pillow rose and fell with every slow and deep breath, evening out as Alfred began to doze.  
  
“I wouldn’t dream of it, Magic Man. Goodnight.”


End file.
